Читать книгу Safe Custody - Cecil William Mercer - Страница 4

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Once we had seen it, the thing was as clear as day: and since I afterwards learned the whole of the truth, I will not present our conjectures when I can set out the facts.

Stiven was right. We had been watched at Paris, and a wire had been sent to Harris who was already in Carinthia. Two wires were sent from Salzburg—one to Harris which said that we should reach Mittal at half past five, and another, signed ‘Ferrers,’ to Hohenems which said that we should arrive by a later train. As I have shown, we were met by Bugle—one of the gang, and were driven off to the cottage, where Harris himself and another were waiting to lay us out. Having taken all our belongings, they then proceeded to Ringen, the station next before Mittal, where the three of them presently boarded that later train by which the wire to Hohenems said that we should arrive. In response to that wire, my great-uncle’s car was at Mittal to meet the train: and, when they had claimed our big baggage, Harris and his friends were forthwith driven to Hohenems of which the Austrian chauffeur believed them to be the new lords.

No one, I think, can deny that the game had been skilfully played and handsomely won. Not only were they up in our seat, with all that was ours, but we were on our backs in the gutter—homeless, penniless, friendless, in the depths of a foreign land.

“Well, we can’t stay here,” said Hubert. “For one thing, I’m rather hungry, and, for another, I’ve taken a dislike to the place. How far was that inn we passed?”

“A good four miles,” said I, “if we find the way. But what about money?”

My cousin tapped his stomach.

“They missed my belt,” he said. “I’ve got it next to my skin. Fifty golden sovereigns should stand us in stead.”

I sometimes wonder how many wrongs go unrighted, because the injured man has an empty purse. But for Hubert’s old-fashioned precaution, so far from being able to take any sort of action against our foes, we must have begged our way through the Austrian countryside.

Indeed, our plight had seemed so shocking that my cousin’s news was the cordial I most required, and, such is the hold of the mind upon the body, I wholly forgot the cold and the pain in my head and was ready to dance with delight to think that Harris had left us ‘the sinews of war.’

So eager was I to be gone that I could hardly wait while Hubert and Stiven scoured the kitchen for any of our belongings that might have been dropped by the thieves, and when at last they emerged with nothing to show but one of my cousin’s pipes, I set the pace down the road at a steady four miles an hour.

And here I should say that Harris had left me my wrist-watch as well as my great-uncle’s ring. Had he dreamed of their importance, he would, of course, have taken them first of all, and, as is so often the way, this one mistake that he made was to cost him extremely dear.

We had walked some two miles when we came to a fork in the road, and not one of us could remember which was the way we had come. After a little discussion we bore to the right, a decision which proved to be wrong, for we not only found no inn but presently came to a mighty head of water that fell so close to the road that none that had gone by that way could have failed to know it again. At once we turned to make our way back to the fork, but between our fatigue and the darkness—for heavy clouds had come to obscure the moon—we must have missed our way, for we could not find the scene of our error and after an hour had gone by were hopelessly lost. To add to our troubles, it started to pour with rain, and though we went heavily on in the hope of seeing some light which would spell shelter, even that relief was denied us, and if indeed we passed dwellings, these were either in darkness or kept from our eyes by trees. At last, about eleven o’clock, we made out some shape which was not natural a little way back from the road. This proved to be a great barn in which there was stacked a good deal of last year’s hay. Here, without hesitation, we decided to pass the night, for, if we were hungry, at least the shelter was good and the hay would make us a more agreeable bed than we should have found at the inn we had set out to seek.

And so, no doubt, it did. But if we had thought to sleep well we were disappointed, for though, God knows, we were weary, we wanted food, and our lives had been so soft that our stomachs, like peevish children, were most importunate. In the end, however, from dozing, we fell asleep—so far as I was concerned, to be troubled by dreadful dreams which sprouted, of course, from the hotbed of our adversity.

The sun was up before Hubert touched my arm, and I sat up stiff and hungry, but feeling greatly refreshed. Then I stumbled out of the barn, to find a lovely morning and the world about me as gay as the cloudless sky. The air was still and seemed as full of scents as a perfumer’s shop, and the sparkle of the meadows in the sunshine and the long, clean-cut shadows of neighbouring trees made up as taking a foreground as ever I saw. On every side the delicate green of woodland stood up to touch the blue, and this was alive with the songs of innumerable birds, brave enough music to lift up any man’s heart.

We made what toilet we could at a tumbling rill, and, feeling, all things considered, remarkably well, regained the road and set out to walk for our breakfast without more ado. By now we were fully determined to visit the first house we saw and would have marched up to a palace and stated our needs: but, such is the way of Fortune, before we had gone two miles we came to a good-looking inn, with limes growing in its forecourt and a doorway which would have admitted a coach and four.

We were too much relieved to see it to dwell on the fact that we had lain cold and hungry so short a distance away, and when we saw that its doors and shutters were open we could have thrown up our hats. Compared with this house, the tavern we had sought was a hovel, and from what we had seen of the district we had not supposed it could boast so inviting an inn.

As we entered the court—

“One word,” said Hubert, “before we take the tide. They won’t understand our conversation: but, if we use the word, they’ll get ‘Hohenems’ all right. So don’t call the place by name. Harris has laid us low. Well, let’s stay there. If we want to get back on the blackguard, it’s quite a good place to be.”

With that, he told Stiven to wait, and he and I walked into the hall of the inn. I call it ‘the hall’ because it deserves that name, but, while it was flagged and ushered a handsome staircase of old, grey oak, it was also very plainly the public room of the house. There were chairs and tables about, and a mighty settle was gracing each side of the hearth, while the place ran the depth of the inn and two-thirds of its length.

There was no one there, but a doorway led us into a kitchen as fine as the hall, and there we found the people breaking their fast.

The host and his wife and two servants—a man and a maid—were seated about a low stool on which stood a rude, iron pot. Each had a spoon in his hand, and they dipped in order into the vessel, looking very solemn and speaking no word, as though they were observing some notable rite.

Though they saw us, they took no more notice than if they had been at their prayers, and nothing could have been plainer than that, while they might forgive our intrusion, they did not expect us to aggravate our mistake. We, therefore, withdrew in silence and took our seats in the hall, and after perhaps five minutes the host and his wife appeared. Though we could not understand what they said, they seemed to be full of goodwill, and when we spoke helplessly of breakfast, they haled us into the kitchen and showed us bread and butter and ham and eggs.

We made no attempt to hide our surprise and pleasure at their choice of a bill of fare, and for this they seemed to be waiting, for they laughed a great deal and kept pointing up at the ceiling—a gesture which we could not interpret, unless it were meant to suggest that they were inspired.

We then made them understand that we wished to be served in the forecourt, under the limes, and, summoning Stiven, gave him into their charge.

It follows that in a quarter of an hour we sat down to as fine a breakfast as any could wish, and I must confess I was never so thankful for food. What was more, the prospect of bathing and having our linen washed seemed not at all remote, for nothing could have exceeded the respect and kindly attention which we were shown.

We were halfway through our meal before I happened to notice that we were observed.

At an open window above us a man who was dressed in pyjamas was steadily regarding our feast. His folded arms were resting upon the sill, and his hair was rumpled as though he were just out of bed. His eye was merry, his countenance ruddy and cheerful, his head and shoulders those of a Hercules: though I judged him to be about thirty, he was inclined to be fat, and he had the air of a Touchstone, or perhaps I should say of one who believes in motley and finds it the only wear. I could hardly believe he was English, and yet I could hardly believe he was anything else.

Hubert saw me looking and followed my gaze.

“Oh, it can’t be true,” said the stranger, averting his eyes. “I ate too much of that pie.”

“No, you didn’t,” said Hubert.

“Well, I’m damned,” said the other, and fingered his chin. “And what are you doing here in this one-eyed Arcady, where only man is dull. Believe me, the shepherds have no pipes.”

Before we could answer—

“Never mind,” he said. “I’m not curious. Besides, you shall tell me anon. And now do go on eating: it does me good.” He raised a stentorian voice. “Amaryllis, my bath.” A shriek of delight from the kitchen answered his call. “I address them in English,” he continued, “because German is a barbarous tongue. I’ve explained that to them and they admit it, but their progress is lamentably slow. You must know, I was once a tutor. A tutor hired to teach English to the scion of an Austrian House. But three days ago I flung off the yoke of bondage and shook the dust of Haydn from off my feet. . . .” As I kicked Hubert under the table, I felt him kick me. “Which reminds me, you don’t happen to have a nail-file, have you? No, I thought not. I never met anyone who had. And now I must rise. I’m simply dying to meet you, but the flesh must be served.”

With that, he burst into song and disappeared, but his voice was big and pleasing, and I know that we sat in silence until he had done.

Then—

“A tutor,” breathed Hubert. “Lately at the House of Haydn and now at a loose end. If he would come in with us. . . . I mean, what would Harris give for such assistance? Harris can’t talk German—I’ll lay to that.”

This shining prospect seemed almost too good to be true: no wind, we felt, could set so dead in our favour, and we made up our minds that before we broached the matter we must see more of our friend. In any event he could help us to deal with our present plight and could tell us where we were and how we best could purchase the things we must have. This was a great relief. Indeed, for the first time since our misfortune we now felt able to give our minds to Harris and to how we should go to work to recover our rights.

Many, I suppose, would have posted back to London and told my great-uncle’s lawyer the whole of the truth: but, though he was kindness itself, he was less man than attorney, and the dry and dusty channels to which he would surely have turned would have put in peril the whole of our enterprise. Nothing could be more certain than that Harris was wasting no time: he knew that any moment he might be unmasked: and so he would labour like fury to find out Hohenems’ secret before his black race was run.

Again, we might have invoked the aid of the local law: but this would have meant that we should be asked for credentials we could not produce and that, when we had climbed that fence, we should have to sit still while our champions disputed with Harris, who would doubtless instruct some lawyer and put up the bluff of his life.

We, therefore, determined to take the law into our hands and act for ourselves, for, while in this way we should be wasting no time, we could go what lengths we pleased, because, though we did him violence, Harris could not afford to call in the police.

We then considered the position which we proposed to attack.

This was formidable.

In the first place, our enemy was in possession. In the second, he knew far more of Hohenems than either Hubert or I. In the third, he had stolen from us the very equipment we needed to bring him down.

It was this last consideration which troubled us most: indeed, it seemed that, except for our fifty pounds, we had only our wits and our hands upon which to rely. The name and address of the agent who was to have paid us such money as we required, were with the rest of our papers in Harris’ hands: but in any event we had no passports to show him, and though we could write to London to stop our letters and cheques, unless we returned to England, we could do nothing more without arousing suspicions which must recoil upon us. At our first attempt to get money, inquiries were sure to be made, and, if Harris had altered our passports to suit himself, we should appear the impostors and might come under arrest.

“In fact,” said Hubert, “we’re not so much treading thin ice as wading in slime. Whatever we touch we shall foul, so we’d better touch as little as ever we can. We’ll stop all letters and cheques, and leave it there. That’ll embarrass Harris and won’t harm us. And if we begin to run short before we’ve got Harris down, you or I will have to go back to England to raise the wind.”

“And clothes?” said I, wriggling. “We can’t go on like this.”

“We must get some shirts and socks at the nearest town. One suit’s enough for an outcast. What worries me is transport. Hohenems is our loadstone, but we can’t camp under its walls. The presence of strangers would be reported at once.”

This was common sense. Before we could think of striking, we must reconnoitre the castle and generally spy out the land: and since surprise was far the best weapon we had, the base from which we were working must lie some distance away.

“Twenty miles off,” said Hubert. “That’s none too far in country as lonely as this. We shall have to stay at some inn, and that means that in twenty-four hours the villages round will know us by reputation if not by sight. So we must stay twenty miles from Hohenems: and I’m not going to bicycle forty miles every day.”

The thought appalled me.

“I’d rather lose Hohenems,” said I.

“You’d have no choice,” said Hubert. “Fancy bickering with Harris after a twenty-mile spin.”

“We must have a car,” said I. “Beg, borrow or——”

And there I stopped dead. The well-worn tag had sired a sudden idea.

“Hubert,” I cried, “we must steal one—steal one of the Hohenems cars.”

My cousin started. Then he began to laugh.

“John,” he said, “you’ve said it—got it in one. Nothing on earth could be better. We shall be taking possession of something belonging to us, and Harris won’t dare to take action, because he’ll know very well the names of the thieves. In fact, he’ll have to give orders not to report the theft. This will amaze the servants—engender suspicions far deeper than any that we could provoke: and if we leave a note for the chauffeur . . .”

From one point of view my proposal was that of a fool. If we committed the theft, we should be casting away the element of surprise: and it was to preserve this weapon that we had desired a car. But though we perceived this absurdity almost at once, we decided that a car would be useful in so many ways that, if there was one for the taking, we should be foolish indeed to let go such a chance.

In our excitement we had almost forgotten the stranger whom we were soon to meet, when an admirable rendering of The Roast Beef of Old England, at once reminded us of his presence and suggested that his toilet was nearly done. This was a fact. Indeed, we presently found that, instead of ringing for breakfast, he always sang this song, and since he had taught her the air, the mistress of the inn, when she heard it, began to prepare his meal.

Five minutes later the stranger himself appeared, now comfortably clad in flannels and smoking a cigarette.

“Shakespeare,” he said, “was born on a morning like this. In fact, if you told me he wrote his songs in Carinthia I shouldn’t argue the point. If you’ve been here any time, you must know that days like this are the usual thing. I imagine that the Clerk of the Austrian Weather is a fallen angel: he simply orders the only weather he knows—that of Paradise. And now to business. My name is Andrew Palin. I’m thirty-four years old and I have no distinguishing marks.”

Hubert said who we were and we all shook hands.

“I hope,” said Palin, “you’ll fleet a few days at this house. It’s not expensive—I pay five shillings a day. In return for that, I lie soft, eat as much as I dare of most excellent food and am treated as a slightly eccentric god. In a word, life has no edge: and, of course, if you like fine country . . . You know I sometimes wonder if I haven’t been translated.”

“It sounds ideal,” said Hubert, “and I’m half inclined to think it would suit us down to the ground. But before we decide, we simply must know where we are.”

“That’s easy,” said the other calmly.

He took a map from his pocket and spread it upon the table from which the maid had taken our plates away. For a moment he peered. Then he took a pin from his tie and stuck it into the sheet.

“That’s where you’re standing,” he said. “And while you’re digesting that blow, I’ll trifle with my collation as best I can.”

With that he turned to the table on which his breakfast was set and left us to study the map and the map to speak for itself.

Few, I think, would have shown us politeness so marked. Nine men out of ten would have taken up Hubert’s statement or at least have asked whence we came or whither we wanted to go.

The map, which was on a big scale, was easy to read, and before a minute was out, as though a veil had been lifted, we saw our position plain.

We were fourteen miles from Mittal and thirty from Hohenems. The nearest town was Robin, some forty miles off. Hohenems lay east of Mittal, but we had been driven due west.

“Well, that’s that,” murmured Hubert. And then, “I’ll swear we can trust this man. Shall we put him wise?”

“You do it,” said I.

My cousin straightened his back.

“Would it amuse you,” he said, “to hear our tale? I don’t know whether you’ll believe it, but I don’t think you’ll find it dull.”

“Regale me,” said Palin, “regale me. I will regale my body, and you shall regale my mind. And please begin at the beginning and don’t leave anything out.”

I must say he made a good listener, for though the tale was long, he never once opened his mouth, except to eat, and after a while he seemed to forget his breakfast and sat with his eyes upon Hubert and a hand to his chin.

When the tale was told, he started up to his feet.

“Count me in,” he cried. “I’ve eaten enough of the lotus. Besides, when you’ve come by your rights, I can return to my isle. I can say what you want in German and I can tide you over financial shoals.”

“We’re not going to law,” said Hubert. “We’re going to take off our coats.”

“Glory be,” said Palin. “When do we start?”

“To-night,” said Hubert. “We’re rather tired of walking and so we propose to begin by stealing one of our cars.”

“A very natural impulse,” said Palin. “Would you like me to wear a mask?”

“Are you sure you mean this?” said I. “We’re only too happy to have you, but we may be buying trouble of an unpleasant kind.”

“Trouble be damned,” said Palin. “Of course you needn’t have me, but for me to decline to come in would be kicking against the pricks. That I want to come in is nothing: I’m clearly meant to come in.” He folded his arms and set his back to a tree. “Two crowds are after your secret, besides yourselves. One’s Harris & Co., and the other’s the House of Haydn. Well, you know something of Harris: but what I don’t know of Haydn would go on a postage-stamp.”

“So be it,” said Hubert, and Palin nodded his head.

Looking back, I continually marvel at the way in which this alliance sprang into life, and I think it did much to teach me how very well disguised a blessing may be. That Haydn and Harris between them brought Palin and us together there can be no shadow of doubt, thus forming the combination which was to bring to ruin their hearts’ desire. As I shall show, without Palin we must have failed: but, thanks to Haydn, Palin was at a loose end, and, thanks to Harris, we walked to his very door.

“And now,” said Palin, “your corruption must be put off. You’ll be glad of the loan of my razor and other things.”

With that, he called the hostess and bade her prepare two bedrooms and see that water was heated for us to bathe, “for these young men,” he said gravely, “are scarcely less noble than I and must be accorded the highest comfort and honour your wit can devise.” Then he sent for Stiven and told him to go to his room and take for our use whatever he thought we should need.

Before we could thank him—

“And now for my story,” he said. “At least, not so much my story as how I come to be here. I’ll give you that incident with a thumb-nail sketch of Haydn. Your water ought to be hot by the time I’ve done.”

He took his seat on a table and lighted a cigarette.

“Nine months ago I came to this part of the world. To be precise, I came to Haydn—a vast estate, from which, of course, the family took its name. I was engaged as tutor to the Count of Haydn’s only son. I found a peculiar household. The Count is a man of forty—harsh with those who will stand it, lax with those who won’t. He gives the impression of having escaped from some zoo. In captivity he’d be quite happy and at his best: at large, he’s purely offensive in every way. His younger brother, a priest, combines the duties of chaplain with those of the evil genius of Haydn. Even Dante never conceived so horrid a personality. Always behind the curtain or in the shadows, as seeing nothing and yet perceiving all things, he is his brother’s familiar and keeper, and looks the part. ‘He has a lean and hungry look: such men are dangerous.’ Haydn is in the hollow of his hand. What he says, goes. And the Count is really his bully—the agent of his merciless will. Then we come to his nephew—a promising lad of fifteen. He lies, steals, smells, assaults the servants and abuses any animal which he is satisfied will not retaliate. If Gibbon may be believed, Pope John the Twenty-third as a stripling must have resembled him. He has, of course, never had a chance. A course of Borstal would do him a world of good. But for his father and uncle, I think he might be reclaimed. But it would be a sticky business. The Countess Olivia completes this remarkable list. She is the niece of the Count, and had she been born a man, she would have reigned in his stead. He succeeded his brother, whose only child she was. Her mother was English, and if she was like her daughter she must have been a sight for sore eyes. Lady Olivia is worthy of Reynolds’ brush: and her ways are as handsome as she is herself. Though she could not succeed, she has a right to a portion of the estate. She has her apartments and garden, and since she is not like the others, spends much of her time alone. I can’t pretend to describe her: I wish I could. She’s the sort of person you seldom read about and never meet. No one would call her gentle—she’s got a will like cast iron: but when I got influenza, she nursed me herself.

“Well, that’s the House of Haydn. A more appropriate name would be the House of Hate. There’s more hatred within those walls than you’d find in a reptile house. She lives there to spite her uncles, and of course they hate her like poison for exercising her rights. They also hate one another, and my late pupil hates the lot. And since he’s naturally hateful, they all hate him. You never saw such a show. How I stuck it so long I don’t know. I think I was fascinated by the spectacle. They paid me well—I was getting six hundred a year: and except for four hours a day I had my time to myself. They gave me the run of the stables, and I used to ride a good deal—often enough with Lady Olivia: I never saw anyone else get up on a horse. Young Augustus gave me no trouble: he mistrusted the look in my eye, and I had him where he belonged. At least, I believed I had . . .

“Three days ago I caught the darling red-handed concealing one of his father’s diamond pins. Well, that’s not too bad. But where? Inside the flap of the pocket of one of my coats. I’d roasted him that morning for failing to dust his ears, and this was his pretty way of getting back. I suddenly remembered that, since I’d been there two servants had been dismissed for stealing their master’s goods. The stuff had not been found on them, but in their spare clothes: each protested his innocence, but nobody believed them and the second was charged and convicted and sent to jail.

“Well, I took him straight to his father by the scruff of his dirty neck, I made my report and demanded that he should be flogged.

“‘Flogged?’ says Father Herman, coming out from behind a screen.

“‘Flogged?’ says the Count, staring.

“‘Flogged,’ said I, ‘within an inch of his life.’

“‘You can’t flog a Haydn,’ says his reverence. ‘Besides, you forget yourself.’

“‘Quite so,’ says the Count. ‘You’re here to teach him English: not to criticise his behaviour towards his inferiors.’

“Well, we had some words. They told me several lies, and I told them as many truths. These annoyed them so much that, prompted by Father Herman, his lordship hinted that my relations with Lady Olivia were of a certain kind. I immediately knocked him down and since, though he hadn’t fired me, I felt that after that things couldn’t be quite the same, I bade the Countess goodbye and took my leave.

“And there we are. It was only when I was gone that I realized that I hadn’t breathed good, fresh air since I’d been in that house. But I frankly regret the lady. She was incomparable.”

“But why does she stay?” said I. “Surely to spite her uncles is a poor excuse.”

Palin shrugged his shoulders.

“Mistrust, I suppose. I gather she’s certain rights: and if she wasn’t there to enforce them . . . I must confess I don’t know how she stands it. All the time I was there she was only away three weeks.”

“Perhaps,” said Hubert, “she was waiting for our great-uncle to die.”

Palin started. Then he struck the table so that it jumped again.

“Of course that’s it,” he shouted. “She knew her uncles too well. If she wasn’t in at the death, she’d never get a smell of the treasure or whatever it is.”

There was a moment’s silence. Then—

“We can’t ask you to fight her,” said Hubert.

Palin frowned.

“If there’s dirty work brewing,” he said, “you can count her out. Lady Olivia would never stoop—not even to save her life.”

Here Stiven came to say that all was ready for us to bathe and change, and I made my way to a bedroom fit for a lord.

Here I should say that everything went to show that the inn had seen great days and that years ago the road which it kept was known and used by travellers of high degree, for the chambers were those of a mansion and two of these were panelled from ceiling to floor. Much of their furniture, too, was very fine, while the beds were monumental of the state and luxurious style which people of quality were once accustomed to require.

I was not yet dressed when a lorry pulled up at the inn, and two minutes later Stiven came running to say that its driver was bound for Robin and would carry us there if we wished. This was an opportunity not to be lost, and ten minutes later Hubert and I were seated in the cab with the driver, while Palin sprawled on the meal-bags of which the lorry was full.

If our progress was slow, the country by which we passed was very pleasant, and the roads were good in spite of the number of hills. When we had gone six miles we passed the domain of Haydn, but the house was not to be seen.

At Robin we went to a Bank and changed our fifty pounds into Austrian notes. Then we telegraphed to London as we had arranged. Then Hubert went off to buy the things we required, while Palin and I set about the delicate business of finding and hiring a car. Had we been ready to take its driver, this might not have been so hard; but, while we were all agreed that we must have a car of sorts to help us to the theft we proposed, we disliked the idea of a witness of all we did. At last, however, we found a petty garage, the master of which was willing to let us have our way, and after a lot of haggling, we paid a small deposit and hired a ramshackle car. We could find no gun-smith’s shop, but were able to purchase some ugly-looking truncheons which I cannot think the saddler, who had them, had ever expected to sell, and, after procuring two torches which shed a most wretched light, were glad to drive out of the place in which we might well meet Harris or one of the gang.

Though we were thankful for any means of transport, I cannot pretend that we were glad of that car, for the noise she made was frightening, her paces were very poor and I had to drive her backwards up three of the hills. Long before we had reached the inn, our purpose to help ourselves to one of the Hohenems cars had hardened to a savage resolve, while the thought of Harris sailing over the country and floating up hill and down dale was not to be borne.

Here I must frankly confess that our plan was founded on fancies which we had let rip. For all we knew, there might be no car at the castle for us to steal: but this seemed most unlikely, and, if there was any car there, we could not believe that it could be so vile a production as that we had hired.

Now, if we were to hope for success, we must plainly view the castle before night fell, for though Palin knew it by name, he had no idea of its lie. Since dusk would come in about seven, we determined to leave our quarters at three o’clock, a decision which proved as wise as inconvenient, for, such were the whims of our hireling, before we were back at the inn, it was long past two.

When we had eaten some luncheon, Palin told the host that we were about to set out to fetch our own car and that he was going with us to play interpreter: if we met with delays, he added, we might not be back before midnight or even dawn, “for cars are like mules,” he said, “and that one there seems to have a touch of gastritis and ought by rights to be in a nursing-home.”

At once the good man went bustling to bid his wife put up some food, while he himself filled a great bottle with home-brewed beer. Our mission, indeed, created great excitement, and we could not have been better sped if the worthy people had known the facts of the case.

Then Stiven was told to get ready, and Hubert and I began to study the map, while Palin wrote out a letter for us to leave behind us when we had committed the theft.

Ten minutes later I once again started the car and we set out to seek our fortune, as though, indeed, we belonged to some fairytale.